


Dancing Without Music

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brotherhood, Dancing, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Gay Male Character, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Male Slash, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dancing With The Stars/Spartacus mash-up. Agron is a professional dancer loving the competition. Then new pro dancer Nasir joins the show and Agron finds something new and fascinating to focus on. Duro is no help at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing Without Music

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came about via Twitter. I'm pretty sure I can blame einfach_mich for passing on the brain slug and enabling it into eating my brain ;)
> 
> This fic could also be summarised as 'In which Agron is Maksim Chmerkovskiy, the bad boy of ballroom, and gets the strong-willed awesome partner that he truly deserves.'

Agron had been a name in the dance world for years by the time _Dancing with the Stars_ came calling. He didn't have as many trophies as, say, Spartacus or Gannicus - who did? But he consistently placed high competitively and any judge who claimed that they didn’t remember him featuring in their competitions was fucking lying. He was anything but forgettable. And that was why the producers called him.

 

They asked him to be one of their first season pros but a dance tour and a family engagement nixed that. So like the rest of the country, Agron got hooked on the show from afar and fumed that he wasn't one of the pros in the national spotlight becoming known and admired for their creativity and dance talent. And fuck, he was going to kill Crixus for that paso. Some of the moves in it had clearly been lifted from Agron's routine at last year's Latin Championships and now Crixus was getting all the public praise for it thanks to the series. The prick was fucking dead.

 

So when the producers came calling the second year, Agron made sure he had a free schedule, a shit-ton of ideas, and made it clear that his brother was coming with him. That wasn't a problem. They needed fresh faces and loved the idea of brothers competing against each other. Agron knew most of the pros and almost won in his début year – fuck you, Glaber, that tango was a thing of fucking beauty and was worth a lot more than a seven. Whatever. Duro made it past the halfway point, Spartacus won paired with a daytime soap actress, and Agron got the best rush from competing since his first trophy win. No wonder most of the same pros came back every year. Agron was instantly one of them.

 

Some dancers on the circuit snidely complained that it dumbed down the dancing and that it didn't showcase what the dances were really all about. But that was obviously jealousy talking. After the success of the first season, most pros were dying to be on the show and to be part of dancing's on-screen renaissance. It was the show that everybody was talking about and it put dancing into the mainstream public eye for the first time in forever. Any pro who said they didn't want to be part of that was lying.

 

There was a lot to love about being on the show. After years of competing on opposite sides of the country, Agron got to spend a lot of time with his brother. They actually had meals together and watched and played rugby and talked about what they’d do when they won. It was like being a teenager again, only without the downside of having to share living space, thank fuck. Agron had been there when Duro had taken his first dance classes. It was a good feeling to be there again.

 

Agron almost punched Crixus the first time they bumped into each other but the crew had been warned and intervened, reminding them about what would show up on camera and how it could affect votes. Lucretia, the show’s producer – crazier than all the crazy competition directors that Agron had ever worked for combined – told them they could say exactly what they wanted to about each other on-camera. According to her, the audience would love the drama of feuding pros. Agron said what he wanted to on camera anyway. Apparently the audience liked that too.

 

Many of the pros were good people. A few of them were Agron’s close friends; the ones he’d always liked competing against. Mira regularly spiked his coffee with whiskey and still had the best footwork of any of them. Agron liked partnering her in the pro dances – she always went that extra mile to look fucking excellent when Spartacus was dancing with Ilithyia.

 

Naevia was amazingly tranquil company, an oasis in the backstage mania, and could communicate more with just her body than anybody else Agron knew. There were no dry eyes in the studio when she and Crixus performed a heart-breaking rumba together. Agron had no problem telling them how good it was, though of course he directed most of the praise at Naevia. She hugged him for a long while afterwards. Crixus didn’t frown at them once. Agron had the weirdest uncomfortable feeling that he and Crixus were having a moment of growing as people. Thank fuck that didn’t happen often.

 

Spartacus won the show an unprecedented three times. Gannicus came back out of retirement again, as he always did when a particularly interesting celebrity partner was enticingly dangled in front of him. Glaber continued to undermark almost everybody and made noises about competing himself one year. Fake tan got literally everywhere and there were a couple of on-camera wardrobe malfunctions, Lugo’s pants splitting being the funniest by miles.

 

Agron busted a couple of ribs one year but danced through the pain. The audience loved an underdog and injuries usually meant more votes. Duro got to the final for the first time and placed third. Agron’s grin felt so big it almost hurt. He bought a mirror-ball keyring and a six-pack of beer and left them in his brother’s dressing room.

 

Agron was ordering tickets for the Rugby World Cup when the news came through about Lucretia's plan to put together a troupe of up and coming pros for performances on the show. Agron didn’t spend a lot of thought on it. More pros meant less space backstage and probably a few more personal dramas but that was normal for any dance event. The most difficult bitches would be weeded out. Spartacus usually saw to that.

 

Then Agron met the troupe. He was listening to his iPod in the ballroom, picking tracks for the next few weeks, so he wasn’t paying attention to the rehearsal happening behind him. When he did happen to glance up, a slim nuanced figure immediately caught his eye. The guy was short, long-haired, and really fucking beautiful. That, combined with the guy’s detailed movement, had Agron completely riveted. The man was precise and heartfelt with amazing shading in all he did. He lifted Saxa like it was no big deal at all. Saxa responded perfectly to every press of his hands. They were mesmerising.

 

Saxa shouted when she saw Agron and leapt over the seating for a loud hug. He hadn’t seen her since a junior’s competition years ago but they’d stayed close via a complicated system of phone tag and frantic social networking. She and Duro were hilariously explosive together. Saxa introduced her partner and Agron tried hard not to stare. From Saxa’s deeply amused expression, he was failing epically.

 

The guy’s name was Nasir and he stared back. His smile was wicked at the edges and he raised his eyebrows deliberately when Agron managed to stop zeroing in on his mouth. Fuck.

 

Agron knew a challenge when he saw one. Heat spread greedily through him. Oh God, he was so fucked.

 

And everybody soon noticed. Duro mocked him mercilessly. Crixus smirked and Mira waggled her eyebrows teasingly. Naevia just smiled. Gannicus laughed long and hard and often. Agron would have more-than-firmly shut them all up, but he had other things to worry about.

 

It had been years since something other than dancing had taken over his brain. He cursed himself and kept it off camera and continued to pull together the best routines he could. His partner, a fantastically sarcastic redheaded wildlife presenter, teased him but kept everything he accidentally told her completely secret. Thankfully the crowd kept on responding positively to their dancing and they stayed on in the competition.

 

The troupe was received well whenever they took to the floor. Agron watched from backstage, hungry for every shot of Nasir. The younger man clearly knew what he was doing. He was totally in tune with his own body, every movement was beautifully choreographed. And there was power in what he did too, an intensity that burned into Agron and made him want to watch more, to watch everything. He was fucking delirious with it.

 

Duro left strong constipation medication in his dressing room, along with a huge box of condoms. The note said 'Pick your poison, for fuck's sake.'

 

Ha fucking ha. It wasn’t that simple.

 

Agron was planning on getting Nasir out for a drink and for a whole lot fucking more. But their schedules were packed and manic and everywhere Agron was, Nasir wasn’t. It was fucking frustrating. They managed to exchange only brief words when they passed each other in the hallways. Nasir always grinned filthily at him. That didn't help Agron's focus at all. With every glimpse he got of Nasir, he was immediately sidetracked into staring and drinking in everything that fell from Nasir's hypnotic mouth.

 

Duro left him a stack of Cosmo Magazines. All of the front covers proclaimed different variations on 'How to Get Your Man.' Agron lifted Duro’s car keys and moved his car several streets away, refusing to reveal where when Duro called him at 1am upon discovering that his wheels had gone missing.

 

At the next show, Agron and his partner claimed the top spot on the leaderboard for the first time. The buzz was all-consuming and amazing and for once, Nasir was completely out of Agron's mind, until Agron spotted him waiting by the dressing rooms. The unexpected sight made his heart lurch hard.

 

Nasir grinned. “Congratulations, man. That was awesome.”

 

Agron smiled back and tried to regulate his breathing and produce actual words now that he had the chance to properly use some with Nasir. “Thanks. About fucking time, you know?”

 

“I do.” Then Nasir pushed away from the wall and stepped right into Agron's personal space. Agron's heart-rate went up a notch, especially because there was another very clear layer of meaning to Nasir’s words obvious in his expression and body language. It was a meaning that Agron was completely on-board with. Nasir’s smile widened even more.

 

His hands went to Agron's face, then they were both moving and quickly became locked into an intense and awesome kiss. Agron was pretty sure that the broken groaning noise he could hear was coming from him. Nasir matched the sound and his teeth nipped Agron's bottom lip. Oh God.

 

Nasir eventually pulled back, laughter and heat in his eyes. Agron kept hold of him, because getting the top score and then this from Nasir? It all felt way too much like a fucking dream.

 

“All that looking and no time……..” Nasir grinned up at him. “I got impatient.”

 

Agron grinned helplessly back. “Fucking glad you did.”

 

Nasir darted up for another deep kiss, then pulled firmly out of Agron's grasp. “Gotta dance. Find me later.”

 

Agron could only watch as Chadara furiously beckoned Nasir over to the rest of the troupe. His lips tingled. He’d been wrong. The rush from getting the night’s highest score had been awesome, but it was nothing compared to the buzz he’d gotten from kissing Nasir. He was already looking forward to doing both again, as soon and as often as possible.

 

A greetings card was tucked into his bag. Inside was scrawled ‘Congratulations on growing some balls.’ Agron filled Duro’s bags with as much fake tan as he could find in make-up. It really did get everywhere.

 

Agron watched Nasir on a backstage monitor, unable to stop grinning. Every perfect movement sent a lick of fire through him even hotter than before. The memory of that skin, those hands on him, that mouth..….. His lips still hadn’t stopped tingling.

 

“You look like an idiot,” Crixus informed him as he passed by.

 

Agron flipped him off, his eyes never leaving the screen, his smile undimmed. The expression only grew when he met up with Nasir outside afterwards, their breath visible in the cold but their mouths soon warm together, like one taste meant they couldn’t stop now. It was pretty fucking perfect – his hands under Nasir’s shirt, Nasir grabbing his ass - right up until Duro and Saxa stuck their heads out of the windows above and started throwing water bombs.

 

_-the end_


End file.
